It is Tuesday. My village chores are done. I’ve left Cheyenne blissfully engaged in experimenting with dyes for her basket weaving, a project she quite mysteriously wants to keep from my eyes.

It is one of those gorgeous July afternoons when the sun is hot and the breezes cool, in our ripple of hills a few miles from the sea.

Earlier, I packed a lunch, grabbed a gourd for dipping water, and a couple of pails for picking late raspberries and anything else I could find along the trail.

The pails carried more, but I gorged myself on the way. I’m sure if I had a mirror, I would see lips stained purple as my hands, for I found early blackberries in the brambles.

I’m deliciously full and sticky, lying here on the grass beside the stream, my hat over my face, filtering just enough of the sun. I’ve dozed, off and on, for long lazy minutes.

Occasionally, I hear the munch, munch, munch of the deer savoring the more tender grasses at the edge of the wood, the quick click-click of dragonflies darting here and there, the meadowlark trilling.

The earth is firm and slightly undulating under me, the soil and sod uneven. Somehow, my plump body has found the right places to dip and swell with the Earth, and I am quite comfortable.

The air is fragrant with berry juice, my own sweat, musky and sweet whiffs of scents on the breeze–moist clay from the stream bank, pine bark resin warmed by the sun, a strong-scented flower I should recognize. Mom would know!

Butterflies and dragonflies flit about, hovering just above the pails long enough to get a good look. I have not seen this bronze colored dragonfly before.

Soon I’ll rise and dip my dusty feet in the cool stream, take a drink of the fresh, pure water, rinse the berry juice from my hands. Soon. Now, I laze under the wide blue roof of the sky, breathing.

Breathing.

Breathing.

I give thanks for this glorious day, for the peaceful pleasures that are mine, for the peace in all our lives.

I give thanks for these berries, ripe, sweet and bountiful.

I give thanks for the hush in the air, so still I can hear the deer chew fifty yards away.

I give thanks for the creatures, large and small, who trust me as I trust them, knowing we will not harm the other.

I give thanks for the abundance in my life.

May all beings be free from suffering.
May all beings seek peace.
May all beings experience joy.
May all beings be glad of heart.

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3 comments

This is a reminder for me that no matter what I’m doing, where I am, what my thoughts or fears or wants, life is full of easy, extraordinary pleasures as it unfolds around. I often miss them, because I’m caught up in my to-do-list or stress, or… . I’m going to do this today… as I go out on errands, I’m going to try quiet on, and listen, and smell, and see. I wonder what I’ll discover…. .

You make this work so rewarding! Thank you for your continued encouragement. Life intervenes, sometimes, in our plans, and ours has been event-full of late. But Rose is ever prodding me to learn and record more of her life . . .

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The Village of Ordinary is a work of fiction, a vision of what life could be like if we chose to live in a world without greed, without hatred and anger, a world of compassion, where every child born is wanted, deeply cherished and nourished to fulfill her or his dreams and potential.

The story is told through the journal of one ordinary woman who grew up in this world, raised children of her own, and lives with the love of her life, among family and friends.

Their village, Ordinary, is typical of, though not identical to, villages all over the world, villages where people choose every day to live in harmony with the Earth and each other. This is a vision of what our world might be like if we choose.